


Warning Sounds

by Raine_Wynd



Series: Battle Cries [2]
Category: Highlander: The Series, Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Clan Denial, Family, Friendship, Gen, Immortals, Implied Relationships, Jaeger Pilots, Light Angst, Loyalty, Secrets, Slow Build, Watchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 01:45:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2006298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Raine_Wynd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Herc thought getting through the Jaeger Academy was tough, but now the stakes are even higher now that he and Scott are jaeger pilots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Wonder what our assignment will be?” Scott said idly as he and his brother walked to the jaeger academy's headmaster’s office. It was the day before graduation, which at this point was a mere formality, and both Hansens knew that the number of available jaegers was increasingly dwindling.

“Dunno,” Herc said, refusing to speculate. They’d done well, he knew, and he wanted to get back to having a more permanent post. 

Scott shot him an annoyed look at his refusal to take the bait, but Herc shrugged it off. He'd long ago learned that such speculation invariably led to disappointment. 

It didn’t take them long to get to their destination. Herc knocked on the door and waited for the command of, “Enter,” before leading the way inside.

Headmaster Smith was a dark-skinned man in his late fifties who presented himself as though he was ex-military. Not a single inch of his PPDC dress uniform was out of place, and even the stacks of paper on his desk were neat. As per protocol, Herc and Scott saluted the headmaster, who returned the salute and gestured for them to sit down in the chairs that were positioned in front of his desk.

“First of all, congratulations,” Headmaster Smith said. “You’ve completed the Jaeger Academy. You are now Rangers and will be assigned to the Sydney Shatterdome. Unfortunately, the jaeger that has been selected for you will not be ready for three months. Australia is very proud of you, and wants you to be available until that time. This means that you will be on call; if a jaeger pilot is out sick or on vacation, you will be expected to fill in.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Scott began, “isn’t the point of Drift compatibility that you are best suited to one person?”

The headmaster grimaced. “Whenever possible, you will be paired with each other.” His tone was final, and Scott bit back the reply he was going to make.

“Anything else?” Herc asked, sensing there was more.

“You have additional training to complete while you are waiting. This additional training will be completed at the Sydney Shatterdome, under the direction of Mr. Jordan Richards. This is mandatory.” Headmaster Smith paused, then added, “This is for Herc. Your son will be allowed to live with you in the Sydney Shatterdome, and his education will continue via a highly regarded, internationally accredited online school, which will be paid for by the PPDC as part of your benefits.”

Startled, for they’d both expected that Herc’s in-laws would have to keep guardianship of Chuck, Scott and Herc looked at each other before Herc turned to the headmaster. “That’s very generous, sir.”

“We want you to be happy, not worrying about your family,” Headmaster Smith said simply. “And considering you borrowed a helicopter without prior authorization to go after your son, the PPDC would prefer that you didn’t repeat that particular stunt.”

Scott, who’d been a mechanic before Scissure hit, looked at Herc, grinning. As he’d expected, his brother didn’t look like he would ever regret his actions.

“Understood, sir,” Herc said crisply. “What happens if we get called for duty?”

“Discuss the particulars of those arrangements with the Shatterdome marshal when you arrive. Deputy Marshal Carrodus is aware of your situation,” the headmaster said. “You will have one hour post-graduation to pack and say any goodbyes you’d like, then you will need to meet your transport in front of the Academy’s entrance for the trip back to Sydney.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You will find complete details of your orders in your email by the time you get back to quarters. Immediately after this, you are to report to Classroom C3A for your first official interview as Rangers, after which you will be free the rest of the day and may head into town if you like, as long as you’re back by 2300 hours. The final class run and workout will be at 0500, with breakfast and graduation to follow. Any questions or comments?”

Hearing the dismissal in Headmaster Smith’s tone, Herc and Scott looked at each other. Scott turned and looked at the headmaster. “A few weeks ago, we had those two swordmasters. A few people asked some really stupid questions. They’re not here now. Was that training demonstration an evaluation?”

Headmaster Smith grinned. “Yes. Connor MacLeod and Jordan 'Richie' Richards were brought in specifically to see how the cadets reacted to an unusual situation. You two did well, so that’s why you are receiving additional training.”

“All for asking the right questions?” Herc asked, surprised.

“‘The art and science of asking questions is the source of all knowledge,’” the headmaster quoted, smiling. “Thomas Berger said that. If we wanted Rangers who only asked where the kaiju was, not what its size or weight or how far out it was, we would’ve drafted armies.” He let that sink in a moment. “Any other questions?”

“No, sir,” both men said at the same time.

Headmaster Smith nodded in satisfaction. “Rangers, dismissed.”

Scott waited until they were well clear of the headmaster’s office before whooping in joy. “We made it, Herc! And they’re letting us take care of our boy, too!”

Herc grinned. “Yes. You think Chuck’ll like living in a Shatterdome?”

Scott shot his brother a wry look. “Well, he’s not liking being on a farm in Murray Downs, judging by his email.”

Herc conceded that point with a nod and wry smile. “Let’s hope for the best.”


	2. Chapter 2

By the time they got to the Sydney Shatterdome, both men were exhausted. The final run and workout had been a full ninety-minutes, with the additional pressure that anyone falling out or failing to perform to standard would be considered out of the program. After having been in the Australian Air Force, Herc had expected such a ‘surprise’ and had made sure that he and Scott had no more than two celebratory drinks at the local bar the night before. 

The flight from Kodiak Island had been on a small charter jet; no big planes could land on the Alaskan island. The PPDC was wary, too, of the kaiju cults that had sprung up since the first kaiju had made land. At least one had threatened to kill the Gages for killing their god – news that had made the PPDC put a priority on ensuring jaeger pilot safety in transit from the Academy.

“Feel like I’m royalty or something,” Scott had joked.

“Don’t get too used to it,” Herc had warned. “Probably won’t see anything like this again.”

“You’re such a spoilsport, Herc,” Scott had said.

Now, twenty-six hours later, they were in their new home. A PPDC Jeep had been waiting for them at the airport, driven by a pair of PPDC security. “Welcome home, sir,” the senior of the pair had said. “Considering your flight time, Deputy Marshal Carrodus would like you to get settled first; you don’t have to report to her until 1400. We’re still serving breakfast if you’re hungry.”

Scott had perked up slightly at the thought of food, but he knew he’d just throw it up if he ate, as tired as he was. “Just point us in the direction of our quarters.”

“Understood, sir,” the guard had said as he and his partner made quick work of loading the duffel bags and suitcases they’d brought with them.

The quarters they were assigned turned out to be a small two-bedroom apartment. Scott hadn’t known what to expect; given his brother’s stories of military barracks and tents in combat zones, he’d been prepared for concrete walls, metal bunks, and a metal locker for clothes, which was what they’d had in the Academy. This was still a paramilitary operation, but allowance for Herc’s status as a single father had clearly been made. 

Immediately off to the right of the entrance were the kitchenette and a small sitting area, furnished with a small couch, a side chair, and a coffee table. A flat screen TV was mounted on the wall. Both men had been briefed to expect that their quarters would be stocked with soap, shampoo, towels, linens, plates, silverware, and a small selection of snacks and juices. They’d also expected a mini-fridge, but were pleased to see that it was about the size of a standard dishwasher, with a decent-sized freezer compartment. A coat closet formed a partial wall immediately to the left of the entrance to the apartment and faced the bathroom.

The bedroom furthest from the door shared a wall with the bathroom, and was furnished with a twin-sized bed, a desk with a chair and a laptop computer. A small built-in closet flanked the left side of the desk. The main bedroom had two beds, also twin-sized, one on each wall, and had a flat-screen computer mounted on the central wall with a desk beneath it. All of the beds had been made with the PPDC blue comforter on top, crisp white sheets below, a single pillow centered at the head of the bed. Two built-in closets flanked the desk. The bathroom had something neither Hansen had seen before in an apartment: two sinks mounted on separate ends of a mirrored vanity, two toilets, and two shower stalls, but no tub. A full-length mirror had been mounted on the backside of the bathroom door. 

“Want dibs on the shower?” Scott asked his brother with a grin.

“What, are you saying I stink?” Herc shot back, pleased that he wouldn’t have to take turns except perhaps when his son or his brother wanted privacy.

“I don’t know about you, but I never felt like I got clean at the Academy with everyone showering in those open bay showers,” Scott said. “Never thought I’d get to a point in my life when I’d appreciate shower curtains.”

“Warned you,” Herc said mildly, stepping out of the bathroom. “Let’s unpack and get some sleep. I want to find out how and when we can get Chuck moved in here.”

Scott nodded. He loved his nephew. If he’d had his wish, he would’ve put Chuck in the care of one of their friends, but the friend had refused when asked. That had left no other option than to ask Chuck’s maternal grandparents to act as Chuck’s guardian, since both of Scott and Herc’s parents were dead. 

It didn’t take long to unpack. One duffel bag each had been their PPDC-issued clothing, while their suitcases contained civilian clothes and other personal items. Herc frowned at the creases in their dress uniforms, but it wasn’t anything a good pressing with an iron wouldn’t handle, so he let it go for the moment. Scott found the remote for the computer in their bedroom and set the alarm, as well as adjusted the volume for the Shatterdome-wide announcements, which had been set to its highest setting.

By mutual agreement, they took showers, both wanting to know if the water pressure was affected in any way. Much to their satisfaction, it wasn’t. Naked as jaybirds, both men crawled under the covers of their respective beds and fell asleep.

The alarm woke them an hour before they were due to meet with their new commanding officer. Herc found the iron and ironing board in the coat closet near the front door, and pressed their dress uniforms until the wrinkles were gone. Scott worked on polishing their combat boots, scuffed slightly by the graduation ceremony; it had become a point of pride that he got that high-gloss shine.

“So what did Adam and Olivia say when you told them the PPDC would let you have Chuck here?” Scott asked, aware that his brother had called his in-laws before they'd left the academy with the news.

“They’re not happy about it. They think Chuck’s safer with them. I sent them the brochure the PPDC sent me about the online school, and that’s what swayed them. Chuck’s bored in the local school, and you know how smart he is.”

“He’s been memorizing jaeger stats,” Scott said. “Boy’s gonna know more about jaegers than we do.”

“Might not be a bad thing,” Herc mused.

“He’ll want to be just like us,” Scott said, certain of it. “Remember when he said he was going to be a pilot like you, only better?”

Herc shook out the pants he’d finished ironing and hung it up on a hanger. “I hope not. That means we’ve been fighting kaiju for half his life. Minimum age for the Academy’s eighteen, remember?”

“Yeah,” Scott said. “And yeah, we’d better kick some kaiju ass so he doesn’t have to. Agreed?”

“You and me, we’ll show them how it’s done,” Herc agreed. He studied his handiwork and then shut off the iron. “We’re as pressed as we’re gonna get,” he pronounced.

Scott looked up from where he sat in the living room and eyed the uniforms Herc had hung up. “I’m sure they’ll find something to nitpick,” he muttered gloomily, and eyed his own work on their boots. “How much time do we have?”

“Fifteen minutes.”

“These aren’t going to get any prettier in that amount of time,” Scott said. The boots gleamed in the light, but Scott thought they could shine even more if he had more time. “Might as well get dressed.”

“Might as well,” Herc said, grinning, and traded Scott’s uniform for his boots.

A quick check of the computer revealed the Shatterdome’s map, and they committed the path to the deputy marshal’s office to memory. Once dressed, they checked each other for final details, straightening out the pins that denoted their rank, then headed out of their quarters.


	3. Chapter 3

Deputy Marshal Carrodus turned out to look like a human-sized, middle-aged version of Tinker Bell, but Herc knew better than to underestimate her. Most of the female leaders he’d met so far in the PPDC had military or paramilitary backgrounds or had martial arts training.

“Good afternoon, Rangers. Please have a seat. Did you have a good flight?”

“First time not flying commercial,” Scott said. “It was nice to stretch out and nap.”

Deputy Marshal Carrodus smiled. “Good. Everything to your liking in your quarters?”

“So far, yes, ma’am,” Herc said.

She nodded, satisfied. “First order of business. Prior to joining the PPDC, I was the logistics officer for an international private security consultancy. I would prefer your cooperation over your obedience.” Her voice was firm; the ‘but I’ll take your obedience if that’s all I get’ was implied. “We are here to kill the kaiju and save the world. Any questions?”

Herc and Scott both said, “No, ma’am.”

“Second: please do not pester me with questions regarding as to when you get your jaeger. There are politics involved. If it was up to me, you’d have one today and we’d be strapping you in for the next kaiju. I will do what I can to minimize your separation as Drift partners, but I answer to the PPDC Council; sometimes my hands are tied. If you are ordered to fill in for someone else without your brother, you will not complain within my hearing – and I have eyes and ears everywhere. That clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Third: what you do with your free time is your own, but keep in mind that you are in the public eye. No visitors are allowed past the lobby without permission. If you want to get laid, find a hotel, use condoms, and don’t believe it when your partner says they’re on birth control. Sorry if that’s harsh, but some people will fuck you just to see if they can get healthcare.

“Fourth, speaking of healthcare: you need a doctor, see the medical clinic here in the ‘dome. It’s part of your benefits package, and Herc, that includes your son’s medical needs.

“Which brings me to my next point: Charles –”

“Excuse me, ma’am, but he goes by Chuck,” Herc interrupted. “He hates being called Charlie now, ever since his mom died.”

The deputy marshal nodded once and smiled understandingly. “When you are called out for duty, should you both be, please notify Security. Given that Chuck is over the age of ten, I feel that he is capable of taking care of himself and no nanny is required. However, I was a precocious kid myself and know that if left to my own devices without a parent around, I’d find trouble. A security person will be therefore be responsible for Chuck’s safety, whenever you are on duty. It does, however, mean that I expect that your son follows orders from any member of the Security team.”

“I’ll make sure he understands that, ma’am.”

She nodded acceptance. “When you’re ready to get him, please see Sergeant Beauchemin in the motorpool. Fuel is rationed, so please keep that in mind when planning trips outside of the Shatterdome.”

“Can we have our own vehicles, ma’am?” Herc asked.

“Depends. What do you have?”

“Motorcycles, ma’am,” Herc answered.

Her eyes lit up. “Which ones?”

“A Honda VFR1200 and Scott has a Ducati Panigale, ma’am,” Herc said. “The bikes and all of our gear’s at Scott’s house in Silverdale.”

“If you’d said Harley, I’d have said no,” she replied, and they laughed. “I ride a Yahama Stryker myself. You’ll need to fill out paperwork with the motorpool so you can get the proper windshield decals so you can get through the gates and park. I’ll also require that you wear full gear and don’t do any stupid tricks. If you get into an accident, call me or have someone call me. Also, while we’re on the subject, if you need a car, please see the motorpool. We’re trying to cut down on the number of vehicles going in and out of here.” She paused. “Do you ride with Chuck, Herc?”

“He’s been riding with me since he was able to sit up and hold on,” Herc told her. “Has his own helmet and gear, too, but he might’ve grown out of some of it. I had his jacket and boots done custom so they’d fit.”

“We’ll see what we can arrange,” the deputy marshal promised. “If you need clothes, shoes, anything for either of you or your son, see the quartermaster. If you run out of towels, sheets, again, see the quartermaster. You’re responsible for your own laundry except for dry cleaning or anything stained by neural gel or jaeger fluids; the quartermaster can handle that. Laundry facilities are on the far end of the hallway from your quarters, and quiet time is between 2000 and 0500 daily. Food if you run out of things in your quarters is a email request to the mess hall, and they will not deliver more than once a week, so plan accordingly.” She proceeded to further outline what else they needed to know to live and work in the Shatterdome, and had them sign an electronic copy of what she’d detailed.

“All right, Rangers,” she said, taking back the tablet she’d handed them, “welcome to the Sydney Shatterdome. You will be emailed a copy of this. Please check your email at least once a day. Outside of emergencies, changes in schedules will be emailed to you. You are expected in the kwoon tomorrow at 0600 for the first day of your additional training. If you would prefer to pick up Chuck tomorrow, we can reschedule.”

Herc considered. “It’s still a school day tomorrow, ma’am. Be easier on everyone if I waited until Saturday.”

“That’s what we thought as well,” Deputy Marshal Carrodus said. “We’ve taken the liberty of notifying the school and transferring your son’s school records so he can continue without much interruption on Monday.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Herc said, barely managing to contain his surprise at their efficiency. He knew he’d signed paperwork giving the PPDC authorization to conduct business on his behalf while he was in training; he hadn’t expected that business to include enrolling his son in school.

She pulled out a drawer and handed them two lanyards with badges attached. “Please wear this while you’re in this or any other Shatterdome; they will allow you access to all areas a Ranger can go. This replaces the temporary badges you were issued earlier today, so please pass those to me.” They did so.

“Since you are brothers, I will be referring to you by your first names. If this is offensive to you...”

“No, ma’am,” they chorused.

“Good. I’m Dylan when we’re off the clock, Deputy Marshal Carrodus any other time of day.” She waited for their nods of acknowledgement before saying, “One last thing. Please introduce Chuck to me when you bring him home.”

“Yes, ma’am. Should I email you or…?” Herc asked.

“Sometime Monday is fine. Any questions before I take you on the grand tour and introduce you to everyone?”

“No ma’am,” they said again.


	4. Chapter 4

Dressed in PPDC-issue blue t-shirts and gi pants, Herc and Scott headed for the kwoon. As they drew near, the low-level headache Herc woke up with that morning intensified.

Jordan Richards stood waiting for them. He wore a t-shirt for a classic rock band and gray sweatpants. His feet were bare. He smiled briefly before ordering, “Step one: breathe. Step two: Scott, would you please shut the door behind you.”

“I thought your name was Richie,” Herc growled, not liking the surprise.

“It is, but that’s not the story I came here to tell or the question I came here to ask. When did you die, Hercules?”

Herc stared at the other man. “Five years ago, in combat, but it was only for a few minutes and the medic got me back.”

Richie smiled grimly. “And he called it a miracle, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but – how do you know this?”

“Because I’m like you. Immortal.”

“You’re full of shit, mate,” Scott interjected.

“Did you believe you were seeing stage blood or real blood when Connor and I were fighting?” Richie countered.

“Real,” Scott replied before he could stop himself. “Stage blood smells different. I know, because I did theater in high school.”

“But why?” Herc demanded. “What kind of pull do you have that you’d arrange this?”

“I didn’t arrange for you to be immortal,” Richie said, sounding annoyed. “I merely arranged for you to get the training you need to survive, and for your brother to know what you’re dealing with now. You were born immortal, Hercules.”

“Don’t call me that. Nobody calls me that. It’s Herc. And does that mean Scott’s like that, too?”

Richie held his breath a moment. Scott broke the silence with, “Come on, bro, it’s not like we didn’t know we weren’t related by blood. Mom and Dad tried to hide that they couldn’t have kids, remember?”

“You’re my brother, damn it,” Herc growled.

“Which means you’re lucky that way,” Richie said. “I grew up on the street. Ran away from my last foster home when I was ten; he liked to hit a little hard.”

“So how do you know Herc’s immortal?” Scott demanded.

“Headache dissipating now that you know I’m not a threat?” Richie asked, looking at Herc.

“Yeah,” Herc started, then said, “Wait, that’s a warning sign? And how do I know you’re not just saying this to string me along?”

“Because if I was,” Richie stepped forward, and pulling a knife out of apparent thin air, sliced Herc’s wrist. Blood pooled on the wound before little blue blots of lightning stitched it closed. 

Gasping the pain, Herc started to say something, then watched the injury fade as quickly as it had occurred. He turned startled eyes to Richie. “Who are you?”

Richie took the knife and stabbed himself dead. When he revived half a minute later, he looked at Herc and Scott. “My name is Richie Ryan. I was born in Seacouver, Washington in 1974. In 1992, I robbed an antique store – and met my first teacher, who convinced my parole officer to let me go. Duncan MacLeod – Mac – gave me a chance at a life – and then, despite everything he did to protect me, I died in a mugging two years later. We’ve had several disagreements since; the last one was big enough that I decided to hang out with Mac’s cousin, Connor, for a while instead. If I had my way, Connor would be here, teaching you, but he thinks you’d trust me more.” Richie looked at Herc. “Right now, I’d say you think I’m crazy.”

“No crazier than aliens from the bottom of the ocean,” Scott interjected. “Give us a minute, okay? We won’t go out of this room.”

Richie nodded, and Scott guided his brother to the back of the room.

“Look, I know it sounds crazy, but what do you think?” Scott asked. 

Not for the first time, Herc wished he had his brother’s ability to trust in other people. Trust, in Herc’s eyes, was earned. “You saw the lightning stitch him and me up, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Scott agreed. “No more sick call for you.”

“I just...” Herc breathed carefully. He felt blindsided and gutshot, and the only cure was to move forward and trust that Richie could guide him. “I died, Scott. All this time I thought it was just a brief thing. He’s saying it was bigger than that. If I hadn’t been alive when Scissure hit, there’s no way Angela or you could’ve saved Chuck.”

Scott looked at him, his brown eyes full of compassion. “But you were.”

Herc nodded and breathed carefully. “Yeah. And what Richie said makes sense, but…. If he could get the PPDC to do this, without explaining exactly why he thought we needed this, he has connections. I don’t want to fuck with that. Do you?”

“No, but bro…if you don’t trust him, maybe we can find someone else.”

“How?” Herc demanded. “The immortal internet directory?” He met Scott’s stare. “He has the answers. I don’t know how the hell he could’ve made lightning stitch up a wound on me. Do you?”

Scott reached out and clasped his shoulder. “No, but if you’re not comfortable, maybe we can….”

“Do what? Report him for being crazy without sounding like we’ve been smoking shit? I can feel him in my head, like a warning sound in my brain.”

“And?” Scott prompted, looking worried.

Taking a deep breath, Herc said, “And I can’t imagine why he’d go through all this trouble if he was running a scam. I felt that blade slice my forearm; I felt the lightning stitch it up like little bolts of static. I saw him die in front of us.” He exhaled. “And his explanation jives with what one of the sergeants in another platoon was trying to tell me. I thought he was crazy and reported him for battle stress.”

“So this isn’t the first time you’ve heard this story?” Scott asked, startled.

“First time anyone took the time to make me believe it,” Herc said. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his decision settle in his bones. “Come on, I have questions for Richie.”

Scott nodded and trailed after Herc as he strode forward, crossing the room. “Why are you using the name ‘Jordan Richards’?”

“Because I have a bad habit of dying rather publicly and spectacularly whenever I’m using my real name,” Richie replied calmly. “I was nineteen when I died the first time. I’ll be nineteen in appearance forever. You were what?”

“Thirty,” Herc replied. “So no aging?”

“No aging except in terms of experience. No illnesses, no more diseases – you can’t spread them and you can’t catch them – but it does mean that you have to be careful.”

“Careful why?” Scott asked.

“Think about the kinds of experiments you could do with someone who doesn’t die. Think about how many people would kill to be immortal or die trying to find out if they are.”

“So what’s the catch?” Herc asked.

“The catch is that the only way you can die is if you lose your head. If a sharp object or explosion detaches your head from your neck, it’s over. No reboots, no ‘oh, I’ll recover from this even if it’s deadly painful.’”

“Ouch,” Herc said.

“There’s more,” Scott challenged, “or else you wouldn’t be here.”

Richie nodded, looking serious and grim. “The other catch is that you’re now a player in the Game. The Game is for immortals only, with the grand prize of having all of the knowledge and experience from all of the other immortals – enough power to rule the world. If the winner of the Game is someone evil, mankind will suffer an eternal darkness.”

“But if we’re fighting kaiju –” Herc began hopefully.

“Doesn’t make you exempt, just makes you a more interesting target,” Richie said. “Mac’s got this notion that we should declare a cease-fire, given the circumstances, but last I heard, he was still fighting people who thought the head of a Highlander was worth everything.”

“Wait a minute,” Herc said. “You’re talking about genocide. One? Only one winner?”

Richie sighed. “Yeah, ‘fraid so. That’s how it works. You might have a good friend who years later decides that you need to be exterminated, and poof, friendship gone.” His voice rang with experience, and Herc decided right then that was a story best told over copious amounts of alcohol, if it were to be told at all.

“So why are you doing this, if that’s the prize?” Scott asked.

“Because I’ve only once been it for the Game, and that was an awful, confusing, and hellacious time of my life I’d like to never repeat,” Richie said softly, his expression full of hard-won knowledge. “Because if no one teaches you how to be an immortal, one day someone will come up to you and challenge you, and you won’t have time to wonder why. I’d rather not see anyone go through that if I can help it.” Richie grinned suddenly. “Also, because why the hell not? It’s either this or I help an old friend steal shit from people who shouldn’t be fucking around with the jaeger program, and I promised Connor I’d spend a few more years avoiding anything to do with Amanda.”

“What do you do when you’re not doing this?” Herc wondered.

“Sometimes I’m a bartender, but for the last five years, I’ve been writing computer games,” Richie admitted. “Fantasy adventure games where you’re the knight who has to rescue the dragon from the princess.”

“Isn’t that usually the princess from the dragon?” Scott asked.

“You’ve never been backstabbed by one, I can tell,” Richie said dryly. “Any other questions before we get started on weapons and tactics and things every immortal and his brother should know?”

“The PPDC doesn’t know about immortals,” Herc stated.

“No, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a few folks I know poking around making sure of it.”

Herc digested the information a moment. “All right, so what do I need to know, and what can I tell my son?”

“You have a son?”

Herc nodded. “Name’s Charles, but he’s insisted on being called Chuck ever since his mom died.”

“How old is he?”

“Eleven, be twelve in six weeks,” Herc said. “Angela died when they nuked Sydney to kill Scissure.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Richie said sincerely. “As for what you tell Chuck, I’ll leave that to you. If you think he’s willing to hear it and keep it secret, then go for it. If you think he’s going to tell someone, it may be best to wait.” He paused. "I know this is a lot to throw at you, but I think you can handle it.”

Scott studied the more experienced immortal a moment, rewinding the conversation in his head. "You didn't answer my brother when he asked you if I was going to be like you.”

Richie met his gaze. "As far as I can tell, no. Sorry.”

"Then why do I need to know what you're teaching Herc?”

"Because if I was going to target your brother, I'd start with his biggest weaknesses: you and his son."

"No such thing as innocents in this Game?" Herc asked quietly.

"None. Mac thought if he didn't tell me what I'd become, I'd be less reckless. I was targeted anyway along with his girlfriend."

"So if I learn what you're teaching Herc –"

"– you buy yourself some time. That's all." Richie's voice was flat. "First order of business today is how to center yourself so you stay whole. We'll work on swordwork tomorrow."

"Why?" Herc asked.

"Because when you win a sword fight against another immortal, you gain all of their memories and experience. If you aren't centered, you'll lose to the very immortal who you just beheaded." Richie paused. "I had to learn that one through experience. We aren't Drifting here – and speaking of, if you are centered, you'll chase the RABIT less and figure out how to hide what you don't want your partner to know."

"How do you know so much about the Drift?" Herc asked.

"Because I did my homework when Connor started saying that one of the jaeger pilots was one of us but didn't know it. He gets visions; I've learned to pay attention when he does."

"How old is the oldest immortal?" Scott wondered.

"At least ten thousand," Richie said as he sat down on the mat and gestured for the Hansens to follow. "Most of the immortals I know are a few centuries old. Now cross your legs, close your eyes, and try to think of elephants."

Scott and Herc barely smothered laughs. "Why elephants?"

Richie grinned. "Isn't that what they tell you in Drift training? Don't think of elephants?"

Herc chuckled. "Yes."

"So here's the deal. If you try not to think of anything, you'll think of elephants. Now close your eyes and think of who you are, not who you're trying to be, and know it in your core. Breathe. Condense it down to four sentences. Now keep your eyes closed and stand up. Say your name."

"Hercules Hansen."

"Scott Hansen."

"Extend your arms out, keep your eyes closed. Breathe. Raise your arms and turn one half-turn to your right. Center your thoughts. Where are you from?" Richie kept the exercise up until they'd both recited that they were from Sydney, born three years apart, and raised as brothers, adding even more complexity to the physical exercise until they stumbled and fell.

"Good. Now that your eyes are open, we'll start again."

It was, Herc reflected later, an interesting introduction to a very different way of meditating. Richie's idea of teaching was quite physical, with mental and verbal challenges adding a sometimes confusing but effective reinforcement of the need to stay focused. When they wrapped up the session with only a break for lunch, the day had flown. "Get some rest tonight," Richie advised. "Tomorrow, I bring out the practice swords and we do this again."

"What do you think of Richie?" Scott asked later that evening.

"He's relentless," Herc said. Then he studied his brother. "Or were you ogling him?"

Scott flushed. "He's not that much older, and did you see his ass? Damn, he's got a fine one."

"You are not fucking the only teacher I got for this shit," Herc warned. "Maybe after he says I'm done, but for the next few weeks, I say no."

"Spoilsport."

"No, just careful, which you aren't always. Not when someone's pretty." Herc sighed, aware that his brother wasn't picky about whom he bedded as long as they were pretty and into him. It had made school complicated. "Besides, I'm pretty sure Richie wouldn't."

"What makes you say that?"

"He's focused on helping us. Getting involved with you wouldn't be a good idea."

"So says you," Scott said, irritated. "I know you loved Angela to pieces, but maybe if you got laid, you'd lose that stick up your ass."

Herc looked at his brother. "I seem to recall that you said the same thing when Angela and I were married," he said evenly.

Scott tossed a pillow at him. "Oh shut up."

Herc laughed, but silently, he hoped his brother wouldn't approach Richie for sex.


	5. Chapter 5

Sword work, Herc quickly discovered, was more complicated than he'd first expected. Whatever confidence he had in his own feet vanished – and what made it more difficult was that Richie kept hammering his questions. Halfway through the second day, Herc had had enough.

"What's the fucking point in asking me the same thing over and over again?" he demanded, arms aching.

"The point," Richie said evenly, "is that you need to know what your answers are. Being an immortal is as much physical as it is mental. You're so concerned with your footwork and your arms that you're tangling up your facts. I could teach you how to fight." Richie shook his head. "I want you to win with your head and soul intact."

Herc's eyes widened and he glanced at Scott. "You're thinking of more than just battling another immortal."

"Partly, but battling another immortal is always more than just the fight. The last time I was challenged, they did so in the hopes of drawing out one of the MacLeods."

"You keep mentioning them. Are they big names?" Scott asked.

"Most of us don't have family. The Highlanders are a rare exception – cousins in the same Scottish clan, fifty years apart. They're two of the strongest immortals our kind has, legends really. Mac adopted me, so that makes me his son."

“That makes you family,” Herc summarized. 

Richie nodded.

“How powerful are your father and…uncle, for lack of a better word?” Scott asked. 

“If the Gathering happened – that’s the final battle of all the immortals – there are good odds that the MacLeods will be the last ones standing,” Richie said flatly. “If that happens, I’ll be dead, and likely at Mac’s hand.”

“But you’re his son!” Herc exclaimed.

Grimly, Richie said, “Yes, but I’m a source of endless disappointment. Now, let’s get back to your training.” His tone said he wasn’t in the mood to explain further, and both Herc and Scott decided not to push.

Much to Herc’s relief, Richie let up on the verbal confusion for the remainder of the afternoon and concentrated on teaching how to move with a sword without overbalancing. 

By the time Richie ended the session, Herc felt that he could at least move well. “Since you’re taking Monday off to recover from picking up Chuck, Tuesday, gentlemen, we will start fighting,” Richie announced. 

“How long will this training last?” Scott wondered.

“I have you for three weeks,” Richie said. “Beyond that is up to you, Herc.”

“Seems like a short amount of time,” Herc observed, “given that we aren’t training with you on weekends.”

Richie nodded. “One of the reasons I’m pushing you so hard is because I have no idea if you’re going to be suiting up to fight in a jaeger before I can finish teaching you. If that happens, I can’t guarantee that the PPDC will see what I’m doing with you as being worth spending your time. I want you to be as capable as I was when I was new. More than that, actually, because I wasn’t prepared and I nearly died twice. I spent a day being taught how to fight someone with a sword. Two weeks after that, I took my first head and Mac gave me a sword and kicked me out.”

Herc looked at Richie, startled. “That seems harsh.”

Richie smiled grimly. “It was.”

“Doesn’t that mean that you’re basically preparing my brother to fight you someday?” Scott wondered.

“Yes, but until the Gathering comes, I prefer to make friends, not enemies,” Richie said easily. “If you have a chance this weekend, please practice what I’ve shown you. Have a good weekend, gentlemen, and if you are challenged – remember, there’s no shame in running and living to fight another day. Most of us respect holy ground like churches and cemeteries.”

“And those that don’t?” Scott wondered.

“Learn the hard way that the magic that makes immortals does not take kindly to that kind of stupidity. Oh, and Scott? I’m not blind that you’re offering. You don’t have to peddle your ass to show your gratitude to me.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Scott protested.

“No? Well, the answer’s still no, sorry. I’m not in the market for a bed partner.”

Scott’s jaw fell. He thought he’d been careful, but a glance at his brother said he’d been more obvious than he’d thought. “Oh, um. Sorry if I offended you?”

Richie smiled and shook his head. “You didn’t, but you’re exactly the kind of flirt I used to be, which is one of the reasons why I’m not interested. The big reason is that you’re interested in scoring more than you’re interested in me. Am I right?”

Scott took a deep breath. It was rare for someone to peg him so easily. “Herc warned me you wouldn’t be. Had to prove him wrong.”

Richie grinned. “Just don’t be an idiot; pride can get you killed.” He paused. “Any other questions? Herc?”

Herc shook his head. “Are you staying in the ‘dome?”

Richie paused. “In the guest quarters. Why?”

“Because I’d feel a hell of lot safer if you came along tomorrow when we picked up Chuck. It’s a long ride to Murray Downs from Sydney,” Herc admitted. “We’re making a run to Scott’s house in Silverdale tonight for our bikes and gear, but one of the security guys is coming with us. Tomorrow, they said we’re on our own unless we want to make a special request, and my in-laws don’t like the PPDC.”

“Why?” Richie wondered.

“Because they hate the military,” Herc said flatly. “If we show up there with a full escort, I’m not sure they’ll let me take Chuck. If you’re busy, we’ll figure something else out.”

Richie shook his head. “No, it’s not a problem for me to come with you,” Richie said. “How far is Silverdale?”

“About an hour,” Scott said. “The security guy said he’ll accompany us out there and back.”

“You should be okay for that length of a trip, but if you run into another one of us, like I said: just remember it’s okay to run.” Richie hesitated before adding, “I’d offer to go with you tonight, but I have to meet with the deputy marshal to report on your progress and I have no idea how long I’ll be.”

“It’s okay,” Herc assured him. “I’ve been avoiding anyone who’s been giving me a headache for the last five years; I think I can manage a few hours. I just…am worried about going somewhere I’m not as familiar.”

Richie nodded. “Understandable. When did you want to leave?”

“It’s about an eleven hour drive,” Herc said. “We were going to head out at 0400 so we’d hit my in-laws’ place around 1500, 1600 at the latest.”

Richie nodded. “Plan on coming right back?”

“Adam and Olivia will want to have dinner before we take Chuck back. We have his gear, but we’ll need at least one seat free for any bags he has. All we have are motorcycles.”

“I ride a BMW R1200GS,” Richie said with a nod. “I have a luggage rack; I can clear space if need be. I’ll meet you in the motorpool tomorrow morning.”

“Appreciate it,” Herc said gratefully.


	6. Chapter 6

If it weren’t for the shock of red hair, Herc was certain he wouldn’t have recognized Richie the next morning. Richie wore a full-body motorcycle suit complete with a shock-absorbing neck brace. It was the kind of suit that Herc had secretly coveted for years, but had never been able to afford. 

At Herc’s look, Richie admitted, “Used to race for a living; got used to wearing these.”

Scott, meanwhile, checked out Richie’s bike, which looked like it had been around the block and then some. The paint was badly scratched, as were the side saddlebags; a layer of dirt coated the motorcycle, as if Richie had ridden it through rain, but the bike was free of rust. A leather duffle bag, large enough to hold a sword, was tied to the luggage rack. The license plate frame looked as though it was sized for Europe, and the Australian plate was new. A sticker on the windshield betrayed that the bike had been in Paris long enough to warrant having a parking sticker that was still valid for another month.

“You were in Paris before this?”

“My boyfriend runs a bar on holy ground,” Richie said easily.

Scott stared at him. “You couldn’t just tell me sorry, I’m involved with someone else?”

“You wouldn’t have taken that for a no,” Richie replied. “I see you have comm units on your helmets. Can they handle a third channel?”

“No, because the third channel’s tied to Chuck’s helmet,” Herc replied, “but they’re tied in with our new cell phones, so you can connect with us that way.” He paused and considered. “Though, maybe if you have the same model unit we can try?”

Richie nodded, and they spent a few minutes figuring out if the unit Richie had would communicate with Herc’s. Much to both Hansens’ relief, Richie’s comm unit connected with theirs without any problems. As a backup, Richie pulled out his phone, which had been wrapped in a military-grade protective shell. After exchanging numbers, he put his phone away and said, “Shall we? I’ll follow you; just don’t lose me. I’m still learning my way around this country.”

Nothing happened on the trip beyond the usual stops for gas and restrooms. Herc could see, though, at every stop that Richie was scanning for potential trouble, even going so far as to make sure they were never more than a quick dash away from their motorcycles.

“Something you want to share?” he asked Richie at one point.

“One of Mac’s enemies liked to stalk his victims through their students. I was the unfortunate student he targeted – he terrorized me through all of Spain and through France until I got to Paris. Had another who decided to play chicken with me on a winding road. I don’t take the open road for granted.”

“Got it,” Herc said.

By the time they got to the Mitchell farm, all three were tired and saddle sore. Herc discovered that immortal healing helped, but he felt that it only softened the cumulative effect rather than erasing it entirely. He said as much to Richie at their last stop for gas before the farm.

Richie nodded and half-smiled. “Yeah, you still bruise and bleed; you just get over it faster,” Richie told him. “The more heads you take, the faster you heal.”

Herc stared at him. “That sounds like a….” He groped for the word. “Hell of a tradeoff,” he settled.

Richie looked at him, his face grim with hard-won knowledge. “If you’d rather I sugarcoated it…?”

Herc shook his head. “No. I’d rather you were honest with me than gave me the same kind of lies I heard from some of my commanders.”

“Anything like ‘it’s only a little shot’…with an armor piercing bullet?” Richie asked.

“Yeah,” Herc said with a nod.

“You sound like you know that one from experience,” Scott said, joining them after paying for his gas and the soft drink he’d wanted.

“Let’s just say that my first few years as an immortal were educational in all the worst ways,” Richie suggested. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, just let me finish this,” Scott said, and proceeded to chug down the drink.


	7. Chapter 7

The road leading directly to the farmhouse was gravel-lined, a tricky maneuver on any bike, but all three men handled the challenge easily, and parked in front of the garage. Herc led the way to the front door with Scott beside him and Richie bringing up the rear. Before they could knock, the door was flung open.

“Dad! Uncle Scott!” Chuck cried joyously, leaping for Herc’s arms. 

Herc narrowed his eyes, suspecting his son was escaping from something, but caught him anyway. “Oof,” he pretended to stumble back. “You got big, kid.”

“I grew two inches!” Chuck announced. “Are we leaving now?” His face was eager – too eager, Herc thought, and was certain Chuck had gotten into some kind of trouble.

“No, I promised your grandparents we’d have dinner first,” Herc said firmly, and watched Chuck’s face crumble with disappointment.

“I wanna go now.”

“Patience,” Herc said warningly.

“I hate you.”

“Uh huh. So why are you still hanging on to your old man like a limpet?” Scott teased.

Chuck just buried his head in Herc’s shoulder. 

Herc laughed. “Leave him be, Scott, it’s been six months.” He passed his helmet over to his brother so he could have his hands free to better support Chuck’s weight. “Hey, Chuck, we brought a friend. Think you can say hi to Richie?”

Chuck looked up over his father’s shoulder and wriggled down like a snake. “Why are you here? Are you my uncle’s boyfriend?”

Richie looked surprised, his eyes narrowing a moment, and then he chuckled. “No, not for his lack of wishing. I’m Jordan Richards, but my friends call me Richie. I’m teaching your father and your uncle martial arts while they wait to be called into service. You’re Chuck.” Richie extended his hand to shake. 

Chuck stared at it dubiously before he shook it. “Why aren’t you Uncle Scott’s boyfriend?”

“Because I have a boyfriend already, and he’s in Paris.”

Satisfied with that answer, Chuck nodded and turned his attention to Scott. “Hug, please?”

Scott hugged him willingly; Chuck took the opportunity to whisper in his ear. 

“The answer is no, I am not running away with you, you little rugrat. If you were supposed to set the table like your grandmother requested, you wouldn’t be in trouble.”

“Aw, but Uncle Scott –”

“That’s enough, young man,” a woman’s voice said, stepping out onto the porch. She was a fair-skinned woman with a kind face, white hair, and tired eyes. Wrinkles and sunspots dotted her skin, evidence to the fact she spent a lot of her time in the sun, working. 

“Grandmother –” Chuck started to protest, but Herc cut him off.

“Be nice, Chuck.”

“Fine,” Chuck said sullenly.

“Go in and wash up,” Olivia suggested. Chuck sidled past her and slipped inside.

“I’ll go in and make sure,” Scott volunteered, and Olivia stepped aside so he could follow Chuck.

“Ma’am, as I said on the phone, this is our friend and instructor, Jordan Richards. He came along so we’d have extra space for any of Chuck’s stuff.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Richie said, smiling as he shook her hand. “Appreciate you setting an extra place at the table for me.”

“It’s the neighborly thing to do,” Olivia said, and her words were edged with frost. “Though, if you’re an instructor, wouldn’t they have given you a car?”

“A car would’ve made us a target or a tourist attraction, ma’am,” Richie said easily, undaunted by her disapproval. “This way, too, we save on gas.”

“Humph,” she sniffed, and turned inside.

Richie glanced at Herc, questioning.

“My wife’s parents,” Herc said, waving his hand to indicate Olivia and her husband. “They disapprove of a lot of things,” and he knew his tone was condemning. “Starting with my choice of career and ending with the fact that I couldn’t save their daughter.”

“Got it. Don’t worry,” Richie assured him as he efficiently stripped himself of the racing suit he’d worn and stuffed it into a large duffel bag. Herc watched as he shifted the contents so that his sword was on top.

“Do you really need that here?” Herc asked.

“First rule of survival: never assume you’re safe,” Richie said flatly, keeping his voice low. “I’m not taking this to the dinner table, but one room closer is better than outside.”

Herc’s eyes widened, but Richie sounded like the voice of bitter experience. He decided, given the possibility of ears, he’d ask for details later. Herc led the way inside the farmhouse, pausing only to strip off his gear and set it down in the pile Scott had already started near the door. Richie waited until they were closer to the dining room before setting his bag down just outside the room.

“Anything we can do to help?” he offered to Olivia, who bustled around the dinner table, setting down dishes.

“No, thanks,” she said. Her husband, a broadly built man with thinning hair, already sat at the head of the table. He said nothing as she finished placing dishes on the table; glasses full of lemonade had been placed at every place setting, but he acknowledged Richie with a small nod when Herc performed introductions.

Olivia sat down at the other end of the wide hardwood table from her husband. Chuck, clearly not wanting to be anywhere near his grandmother, chose to sit down at his grandfather’s right. Scott, who’d incurred Olivia’s disdain for choosing to join Herc in joining the PPDC, sat across from him, which meant Richie wound up on Olivia’s right and Herc on her left. 

Silently, Herc prayed they’d get through this dinner without a confrontation. 

“So where are you from?” Adam asked Richie.

“I was born in the US, but I’ve been living in Paris for the last ten years,” Richie said.

Olivia eyed him. “You look too young to be traveling,” she said disdainfully.

Richie smiled tightly. “Ma’am, my guardian wouldn’t have let me on my own when I was nineteen if he didn’t trust I could handle myself. I’m also thirty years old.”

Scott started to say something, only to jerk suddenly, as if Richie had hit him. Herc suspected his brother had been about to question Richie’s statements, but Richie wanted him to keep the cover story.

“You okay, bro?” Herc asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I just had a muscle spasm,” Scott said hastily, glaring at Richie, who looked innocent.

“What did you do in Paris?” Adam asked.

“Write software and teach martial arts,” Richie said, and skillfully turned the conversation away from himself. By the time dinner was over, he’d won Olivia and Adam’s grudging respect, which was, Herc thought, the best outcome they could’ve expected.

When it came time to gear up again for the long ride back, they quickly discovered that Chuck no longer fit into any of his gear. Fortunately, Richie had a spare helmet and a leather jacket that fit the youngest Hansen. With the help of some tools and Richie’s permission, Scott transferred the comm unit that had been in Chuck’s helmet into the one he was borrowing.

“Thanks, Richie,” Herc said gratefully as Richie finished tying Chuck’s duffel bag onto his motorcycle.

“Not a problem. I usually have spare clothing, just in case.”

Herc raised an eyebrow, but, aware that his son was standing right there, decided to table that discussion for later. Richie caught his expression and added, “Spent a couple of years living on the road. You learn what to bring along.”

“Really? That’s so cool!” Chuck said.

“It is, until you’re hot and sticky and hungry and can’t find anywhere to shower or eat,” Richie told him.

“Awww, you’re no fun,” Chuck complained.

“Come on, Chuck, time to get going,” Herc said, moving to mount his bike. Chuck climbed aboard behind him. Scott’s passenger seat held Chuck’s two other bags; from the way everything had been packed, Herc suspected that his in-laws were making sure that Chuck left nothing behind. Tapping his comm unit to activate it, Herc started up his motorcycle as both Scott and Richie started up their bikes.

“All right, so it’s 1815 now,” Herc said, checking his watch, “the plan is to ride for another three hours and then find a hotel and crash, do the rest of the trip in the morning.”

“I take it the Mitchells wouldn’t have suggested we stay the night?” Richie asked.

“They hate Dad,” Chuck said simply. 

“Lovely,” was Richie’s dry reply. “I had foster parents who were in it only for the money when I was ten.”

“You were an orphan?” Scott asked as they turned their motorcycles onto the gravel road.

“My mom died of a heart attack when I was four years old, right in front of me,” Richie said. “Took me a long time to understand it wasn’t my fault.”

“Do you miss her?” Chuck asked in a small voice.

“Not as much as I miss the woman who was like a big sister and a mom to me. Her name was Tessa. She taught me how to cook and how to speak French. She was my guardian’s girlfriend.”

“What happened?” Chuck demanded.

“She was shot in a mugging gone wrong.”

“Oh,” Chuck said, and lapsed into silence for a good kilometer before speaking again. “Say something in French.”

“Chuck, manners,” Herc admonished.

“Say something in French, please, Mr. Richards?”

“Call me Richie, and ‘quelque chose’ is something in French,” Richie replied, laughter underlining his voice.

“Can you teach me how to speak French?”

“Maybe,” Richie said, “if your dad allows it and you aren’t busy.”

“Please, Dad?”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow after we get home,” Herc said firmly.

“Aww, Dad, you’re no fun. Uncle Scott, can I get your permission instead?”

Scott laughed. “Buddy, my permission doesn’t count here.”

“You’re no fun either.”

Herc barely smothered a chuckle. “Yeah, well, son, when it comes to parenting you, I have final say.”

“I didn’t miss you,” came the petulant response. Chuck held his position for a few minutes longer before bursting out with, “Did you get a jaeger?”

“She’s being built right now.” 

“Does she have a name yet? Can I name her?”

“Not sure how that works,” Herc admitted. “I know the pilots of Coyote Tango didn’t pick their jaeger’s name.”

“Don’t think we get to pick,” Scott added. “I heard they had naming contests for at least one of the jaegers and that’s how it got named ‘Lightning Bombshell.’”

“That sounds just awful,” Richie observed. “Where is she stationed?”

“Lima,” Chuck said.

Richie was silent a moment. “That does not sound right in any language I know,” he said.

“How many do you speak?” Scott wondered.

“A handful,” Richie said. “I once rode from my home state in the US through Central and South America and up to France.”

“Isn’t that a long ride?” Chuck asked.

“A very, very long ride, yes,” Richie said. “I didn’t do it all at once, though.”

Chuck wanted to know all the details, and Herc let the conversation fall to the back of his mind as he focused on the road. By the time they found a decent-looking hotel, Chuck was nearly a dead weight on Herc’s back. 

“Stay put, Herc,” Richie warned when Herc pulled his bike to a stop. “Your son’s fallen asleep. Not sure how he’s managed not to fall off.”

“Practice,” Herc said dryly, and waited for Richie to lift Chuck off the bike.

“Come on, Chuck, wake up a little for us,” Richie said as Herc dismounted.

“Dun’wanna.” 

“Let me take his weight,” Herc offered, and they shifted the preteen boy. “Scott, can you grab that red bag and get us checked in?”

“Sure thing,” Scott agreed.


	8. Chapter 8

In the morning, they were just about to eat some of the hotel’s free continental breakfast when Herc saw Richie tense a few seconds before he, too, felt the presence of another immortal. A dark-haired man in a business suit stared at their little group before nodding cordially, and continued with getting his breakfast.

Richie rose from the table. “Excuse me.”

Herc watched as the redheaded immortal went to speak with the stranger. From the non-verbal language that followed, Herc guessed the stranger wanted no trouble. Richie’s words when he returned confirmed it.

“Something I should know?” Herc asked.

Richie looked less tense than when he’d left. “He’s passing through, same as us. Not interested in playing the Game.”

“What game?” Chuck piped up. 

Richie looked at him. “It’s for certain grownups only and not fun at all.”

“Oh.” Chuck lost interest and returned his focus on the plate in front of him.

“Nicely done,” Herc whispered to Richie, who nodded acknowledgement.

“Anyone you know?” Scott wondered.

Richie shook his head. “No.”

“Too bad,” Scott remarked, which earned him a startled look from Richie.

“What? He looked hot in that suit. Was gonna ask him…”

“For a quickie in the bathroom before we go?” Richie asked dryly. “Thought you had more self-respect than that.”

It took a second for Scott to parse that comment, and when he did, he said, “What do you mean by that?”

Richie met his gaze. “You don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Scott.”

“Where the fuck do you get off telling me what I should and shouldn’t do?” Scott demanded.

“Someone who walked in similar shoes about twenty years ago,” Richie said quietly. 

Scott absorbed that. He started to say something else, but happened to glance across the table to see Chuck avidly paying attention, and let the subject slide.

Questions were adding up in Herc’s mind, and inwardly, he bristled with impatience to know the answers. Still, he couldn’t refute the evidence in front of him: how careful Richie was, how someone with Richie’s apparent youth had managed to stay alive for more than three decades after his death. “After we get back and I get my son unpacked, are you free?” he asked Richie. “I’d like to ask you some questions.”

Richie nodded. “Figured you would. Call me when you’re ready.”

Herc smiled gratefully before he started eating again.


	9. Chapter 9

It was late afternoon before Herc felt he could leave his son in Scott’s care and headed to the Shatterdome’s guest quarters. Even though it was Sunday, parts of the ‘dome were still under construction; Deputy Marshal Carrodus had explained that they were hoping to complete the space to house five jaegers total; the ‘dome was being used as a jumphawk base at this point. After that explanation, Herc understood why the likelihood of his and his brother’s reassignment to other jaegers was high. 

Herc found the guest quarters easily enough. Richie greeted him with one hand behind the door; when Herc stepped inside, he saw that Richie had his sword in one hand.

“Even for someone you know?” Herc asked, shocked.

“Yes,” Richie said flatly. “The three worst times I almost lost my head were at Duncan MacLeod’s hands. I trusted him implicitly not to hurt me, and he did anyway.”

“How…how did it get so bad?” Herc took the cue to sit on the room’s lone chair while Richie sat down on the bed.

Richie sighed. “I mentioned how we gain power through taking heads. ”

Herc nodded.

“When you do that, you take the other immortal’s Quickening. Long story short – a Dark Quickening is when every bad desire or impulse you ever had is magnified and you become evil when you were a good person to start off with.”

“That happened?”

“To Duncan, yes. I thought he’d just gone crazy.”

“And the other two times?”

Richie didn’t answer for a long moment. “After the Dark Quickening, I ran. I got it in my head that if that’s what my teacher thought of me, then I’d better get better quick, so that the next time he tried for my head, we’d have a fairer fight. I spent nearly a year making a name for myself, fighting anyone on the barest of pretexts, got a reputation as a headhunter.”

Herc stared at him. Somehow, he couldn’t reconcile the man sitting calmly across from him as someone capable of doing something so horrific. “You actively sought others just to kill them?”

Richie nodded. “Thought that’s how I should play the Game. Kill others before they killed you. I’m not the only one out there with that line of thinking, by the way. In the process, I took the head of a friend of Duncan’s, just because he looked at me wrong.”

“So Duncan wanted revenge.”

“Yeah. Can’t say I blamed him, but I thought he was wrong for wanting my head just because I’d played the Game one night. He got talked out of it that time.”

“And the third?”

“Third time, Duncan started seeing demons.” Richie paused to let that sink in before adding, “The problem with magic is that it has multiple sides: good, neutral, and bad, and every shade in between. Demons are real; they’re part of magic. Trust me, you don’t want to learn that the way I did.”

“If Duncan came after you twice, why the fuck were you willing to trust him to get close enough a third time?” Herc demanded.

Richie sighed. “Because I was naïve and stupid,” Richie admitted. “And I believed him when he said he was sorry and that he’d been out of his mind. Understand, Duncan was the first person I’d had in my life in years who gave me a shot at something better – and those first five years afterwards, I would’ve done nearly anything for him if he’d asked. Between him and Tessa, I had a family for the first time in my life who wanted me around, even if I’d been a thief and was occasionally stupid and reckless. At the time, too, I didn’t know that demons were real - I was like you are now, thinking they were just religious myths.”

“How old were you when you first met Duncan?” Herc was beginning to see that he and Scott had been lucky with their upbringing; despite their adoptive parents wanting desperately to maintain the fiction that they were all related, they’d had family.

“Seventeen, a few weeks away from being eighteen and old enough to be charged as an adult for breaking and entering. My parole officer thought Duncan was crazy for wanting to drop the charges – I’d broken into Duncan’s antique shop.”

Startled, Herc looked at Richie, who smiled wryly. “Yeah. I’d been living on the street for years, ran around with a gang, had a record for breaking and entering and petty theft. Saw the antique shop, thought I’d scored – but wound up being party to an immortal coming after Duncan instead. Then Connor showed up, hot on the other immortal’s tracks, and for a moment there, I had three swords pointed in my direction. I got curious, after, and saw Connor and Duncan sparring, then fighting that immortal who’d broken in. Saw my first Quickening show; thought Mac was getting fried by lightning.”

“He bought your silence by offering you a home,” Herc said.

Richie nodded. “At first, I was terrified he’d turn me back in, but he did something amazing – he gave me someone to look up to, someone who gave a damn about what happened to me. He gave me a job in that same antique shop. Tessa, his girlfriend, was a world-famous metal sculptor and artist – and she decided that I needed to learn how to weld, how to cook, and how to speak French.” Richie breathed carefully. “I had the biggest crush on her and she knew it, but she never made fun of me for it.”

Herc studied Richie. The grief was old, healed over, but still close to his heart. “What happened to her?”

“We were shot by the same mugger – Tessa died first, then me.” He let out a sigh. “When Duncan had his Dark Quickening, I thought he wanted to kill me for not saving her.”

“That’s a crock of bullshit,” Herc snapped instinctively.

Richie gave him a sad smile. “Yeah, well, I know that now, but…” He shrugged. “It’s one of the reasons why I’m trying to make sure you find your balance now, before you’re challenged, before you run into a situation where you can’t control what you think you should.”

Herc digested that. “You don’t think you’ll have the same problems Duncan did, do you?”

Richie laughed. “God, I hope not. Most of the people going after me tend to be because either they have a beef with me, they think I’m a good target, or they’re idiots who assume I’m exactly as old as I look. But…I don’t want to take anything for granted, either. Duncan wound up with a Dark Quickening because an old friend of his overloaded trying to be the one who got rid of the worst immortals.”

Herc winced. “That doesn’t sound like a good life plan.”

Richie chuckled. “No, but there are some of us who think that’s what they should do with this gift we’ve been given.”

“And you?”

“Me, I just want to see where this ride takes me. Before Mac and Tessa took me in, I thought my life was going to dead-end in prison or death. Kids like me who are in foster care or living on the streets – we usually don’t succeed in life.”

Herc had heard the statistics and knew that many of his peers in the Air Force had come from places where no other good options existed except the military. “Seems to me you’ve done well for yourself.”

Richie nodded. “I’m grateful that the two immortals I wound up watching fight were not the kind who’d use me until I wasn’t any good to them anymore.”

“Why didn’t you wind up with Connor?”

“At the time, Connor was hunting one of his long-time enemies, and he and Duncan both thought that Mac was the more settled of the two.”

“Do you regret not having that choice?”

Richie shook his head. “No, because I wouldn’t have appreciated Connor the way I do now. I was very much a smartass when I was seventeen.”

“I know it’s probably not something you like to talk about, but when was the last time Duncan went after your head?”

“1997, and no, I don’t mind telling you because I think you need to hear this. Connor and a friend rescued me that last time, and Connor’s the one who got me into therapy so I could understand why I was so willing to put up with Duncan’s behavior.” Richie added, “The last time Mac and I talked was a few years ago. He came to Paris, wanting to reconcile. I told him I’d be cordial, but I couldn’t forget what he’d done.” Richie shook his head. “One of the hardest things about being immortal is what you remember and what you’re willing to forgive and forget. I know of people who didn’t forgive something someone did centuries ago. You’d think we’d be over it by now, but…” He half-shrugged. 

Herc studied Richie a few moments. “That’s why you’re willing to do this for me,” he declared. “Because you had a shitty start to being immortal.” 

“In part,” Richie agreed. “And because if I didn’t, you’d be stuck with Connor, and he doesn’t talk a quarter as much as I do. Look under the word ‘taciturn’ in the dictionary and you’ll see his picture there.”

Herc laughed before sobering. “There’s no one else you could get?”

“Would you prefer someone else? I know there are a few Aussie immortals. It may take me while to contact them, but –”

“No, you’re fine,” Herc said hastily, realizing he might’ve offended Richie, and watched the other man's expression turn to barely disguised relief. “I just was wondering if the reason you’re doing this is because there’s no one else.”

“Most of the immortals I know are busy with other things,” Richie said carefully. “And if there was someone else more suited, Connor would’ve asked them, not me. I’ve seen him do it.” 

“You sound like you respect his opinion a lot.”

Richie nodded. “Connor MacLeod is one of the strongest immortals in the Game; he's nearly five hundred years old, and he taught Duncan.”

“And you’ve been studying with Connor?”

“Off and on since ’97,” Richie said with a smile. “He's the one who convinced me I should learn how to program software instead of just picking up whatever job I could with a G.E.D.” 

“But the paranoia, the caution – how do you live like that, suspecting everyone?”

“You do and you don’t. Pick your friends wisely and your lovers even wiser still. I’m happier when I have friends, but I also spent a lot of time by myself growing up; I don’t need the clan like Connor and Mac do. You – you may have an advantage here.”

“How’s that?” Herc leaned forward intently.

“The pool of people who might try for your head will be more limited in a Shatterdome, given the security protocols.”

“I’ll buy that, but that doesn’t mean someone can’t steal a uniform and try to get in. Or hell, be like you and arrange to train me.”

Richie shook his head. “Not saying they won’t, but I think you’d be less inclined to let someone new scam you that way.”

“True,” Herc agreed. “So how do I hide a sword in a drive suit?”

“I’m still trying to figure it out,” Richie conceded, “and I'll say upfront that I may just leave that to you to figure out. You saw how I hid mine in a duffel bag. I also have a crossbody scabbard I wear under my clothing when I can't use a duffel bag. Also, I usually have a spare knife strapped to me somewhere – a trick I picked up from someone who would much rather stand on the sidelines of the Game and sell popcorn.”

“Seriously?”

Richie grinned. “Well, given that it’s worked for him for seven centuries, I’m inclined to think Cory may have a point.” He sobered. “Taking a Quickening is hell on a body and mind; when you go through it the first time, you’ll probably think I underplayed how intense it is. Any other questions?”

“How am I going to explain a sword to the PPDC? We’re not supposed to have weapons, and the drive suits are skintight.”

“Knives may be your better weapon; you can hide them in boots and other places. I’ll check with Connor and see what he thinks.”

Herc took a deep breath. “How prepared do you think I am to fight?”

“To fight one of us?” Richie shook his head. “I wouldn’t bet on it, not yet.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Richie clasped his shoulder. “You’ll get there.”

“One more question. How do I hide what I know in the Drift?”

“We’ll work on your focus, and I’m gambling that will help. If anyone asks, the easiest thing is to explain that I’ve been telling you legends to go along with your training.”

Herc stared at Richie, impressed. “You’ve thought this through pretty thoroughly.”

Richie laughed. “I had help. If I’d planned this by myself, we’d be discussing this in a bar and you’d think I was high on something.”

Herc eyed the other immortal. “I was wondering if that was the case. When we were at my in-laws’ last night – did you kick Scott to keep his mouth shut?”

“Applied a nerve block actually, but yes. I was planning on talking with him about that. Your brother...” Richie picked his next words carefully, “needs to understand that what he does can reflect back on you, and if another immortal is involved, he may inadvertently make you a target.” 

“I’ll remind him as well,” Herc promised. “But it might be easier if he heard from you. He doesn't always listen to me since I'm his brother.”

“Understood,” Richie said with a nod. “I have a question for you, though. Just how the hell did your wife manage to grow up in such a narrow-minded, rigid household?”

Herc laughed. “No clue, but Angela was desperate for someone to rescue her from that farm. She had no idea she was pregnant, either, which is why Chuck was such a surprise to both of us. I, uh, wasn’t expecting to be a dad when I was twenty-two.”

Richie hesitated so long that Herc started to wonder what he was going to say. 

“Just tell me, damn it,” Herc snapped when the silence stretched on too long. 

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but immortals can’t bear or sire children.”

Herc stared at him. “Chuck is my son,” he said dangerously.

“He is,” Richie agreed quietly. “And maybe you’re the exception that proves the rule. But I’ve never been told anything different from even the oldest immortal I know, who is over ten thousand years old.”

Herc held his position a moment, then closed his eyes briefly. “He’s my son,” he said fiercely, “and you will never tell him that, you understand?”

“You’re his father,” Richie agreed, “in all the ways that matter. You love him, you’re willing to protect him, and you’re putting him in the safest place you know, which is right beside you, away from people who’d poison his mind. ”

Herc breathed out, aware that he’d gotten angry. “I thought I might have to leave him there for good.”

“You didn’t,” Richie reminded him. “Herc, I’m not saying you aren’t a good father. I spent most of my childhood without one, which is one of the reasons why I was so willing to look up to Duncan the way I did.”

Herc took another breath. “Thanks, Richie. You’ve given me a lot to think about. I should get back before I find Chuck’s driven Scott’s crazy.” He stood, intending to leave.

Richie rose. “Hey. You need a hug first.”

Herc chuckled wryly, but accepted the hug Richie offered. “Thanks, mate.”

Richie grinned as he stepped back. “Anytime.”


	10. Chapter 10

_Two and a half weeks later_

“I have presents for both of you,” Richie announced as Herc and Scott stepped into the kwoon. Per Richie’s request, they wore their duty uniforms – blue camouflage pants and blouses with combat boots – instead of tank tops and gi pants. Both men were looking forward to what Richie had said was to be a day fighting in ‘more regular clothes.’

Looking at the top of the room, both men could see that Richie sat in a chair with what looked to be large black case standing up beside him.

“My birthday’s not until next week,” Scott felt obliged to point out.

“Really? Oh, cool. Then this works out. Come on, birthday boy, you first.”

Curious, Scott stepped closer, and then he and Herc saw that what they thought was a single black case was actually three cases, stacked on top of one of the black step boxes used for some of their training.

Richie opened the smallest of the cases to reveal a nine-inch-long knife with a black blade and handle. “I hope you never need it,” he told Scott, “but as now, any Ranger has permission to carry weapons.”

“What happened?” Herc asked.

“The Gages were attacked by a kaiju cultist when they were in LA,” Richie said. “They’re safe, but it’s widely assumed that they were attacked because of their recent success in Romeo Blue.”

Scott stared at him. “How do you know this?”

Richie looked grim. “I was asked to brief you two and make sure you’re armed.”

“Pistols?” Herc asked.

Richie shook his head. “I won’t advocate it, but the PPDC will allow it for you, if you request it. Some immortals see guns as cheating. Having been shot a few times, I can definitely say that it feels like it when you’re the one being shot.”

“Your Game sounds uglier the more you describe it,” Scott said.

Richie lifted an eyebrow. “I haven’t even started, Scott, but I’ll give you this hint. The Game’s played by people – long-lived people, but people who can be as good or as bad as anyone else.”

“You sure you want to give me this?” Scott stalled. “Because this means that you expect me to use it.”

“If I thought Herc was the only one who’d benefit from learning, I would’ve arranged it so you weren’t included,” Richie said mildly. 

Scott stared at him. “Why didn’t you? Especially after I was such a jerk about the lies you were telling and the way you kept hammering about how I wasn’t careful?”

Richie laughed. “Because if I left you the way you were, that’s a weakness for Herc. I can’t train Herc and forget you, especially since you two are supposed to pilot together. Especially since you two are responsible for a young boy.”

“But other immortals would,” Scott guessed, and got a nod. “I don’t understand you.”

Richie laughed again. “You don’t have to, Scott. Just promise me you’ll be safe and try not to do anything that would endanger yourself, your brother, or your nephew.” 

“I’ll do my best,” Scott promised as he picked up the knife and marveled at its deadly beauty.

“There’s a small sheath to go with it; it’s meant to fit in your boot,” Richie told him. 

Scott eyed Richie a moment. “You aren’t giving me a sword.”

“You don’t need one. I told you that I was giving you enough to make a difference. If there’s an immortal after your brother, you need to be able to escape. Or else the other guy is going to make like he killed you.”

Scott took a breath. “Yeah, that would be enough to piss Herc into doing something stupid. So how do I put this thing away?”

“Give me a minute; I’m not done with presents.” Richie opened up the larger of the two remaining cases to reveal a sword with black-leather-wrapped handle, a wide steel blade, and a brass-plated guard. “Fifteenth-century broadsword,” he told them. “I’m told it belonged to a minor knight in England.”

“That must be worth a fortune,” Herc said, surprised.

“Not as much as your life,” Richie pointed out. “I’ll go over care and tending in a bit, but I wanted to be sure you had a chance to learn how to move with it before you needed it. The second case, in case you’re wondering, has another boot knife like the one I gave Scott, but it’s yours.”

“How’d you get it?” Scott wanted to know.

“Connor MacLeod is an antiques dealer. When I agreed to teach you, he gave me these to give. I also have scabbards for all three weapons; the cases are also yours to keep, which will come in handy if you’re traveling.”

“Do you owe him anything for the weapons?” Herc asked, imagining the amount of money such an antique and two modern-looking boot knives would cost.

Richie shook his head. “He’ll probably make me pay his bar tab the next time he and I are in the same city together, but beyond that, no. You can pay him and me back by not losing your head.”

“Fair enough,” Herc decided, and took the sword Richie handed to him. It was about two kilos, he estimated as he stepped back until he was clear of both his teacher and his brother, and tested the swing. Now, suddenly, all the drills Richie had been doing with the practice swords made sense. Clearly, Richie had used an approximation of the same weight so that Herc would be able to swing the actual thing.

“Feel good in your hand?” Richie called.

“Yeah. I like it.”

“Good, because we’re taking the training gloves off today. Scott, we’ll get to the boot knives later today, so find a safe corner and watch. Herc, shirt off if you want to keep it.”

Once Scott had moved and Herc had stripped off his shirt, Richie launched into an attack, catching Herc off guard. Desperately, Herc battled to gain the upper hand, only to find himself flat on his back on the floor.

“What the fuck was that about?” Scott demanded.

“A lesson,” Herc replied. “About assumptions.”

Richie grinned. When Herc used that opportunity to attack, Richie’s smile grew even wider.

By the time they called a halt to their swordfight, Herc’s arm was sore, and he’d been stabbed multiple times. “Damn, you’re fast,” he told Richie.

“Have to be if I’m going to use a wide-bladed rapier and be the size I am; most immortals use some type of broadsword, and many rely on strength and sheer mass,” Richie said matter-of-factly. “Do you feel like you could fight?”

Herc considered. “I don’t know yet.”

“If your mind’s not convinced, your head’s already on the ground,” Richie warned. “What we’re doing is no different than the practice swords you’ve been using.”

“Understood, but I think I’m going to need another day.”

Richie nodded. “That we have. Gentlemen, the boot knives are next. Scott, are you ready?”

“Jesus, Richie, is that what Herc’s up against? Someone like you?” Scott exclaimed as he moved to the mat, his new knife in hand.

“Or better,” Richie acknowledged. “Now do you get why I’ve been pounding on you so hard?”

“Yeah,” Scott said, shaking his head ruefully. “Jesus. If you’d come at me like that, I’d be shitting my pants.”

Richie grinned at him.

Realization dawned on Scott. “Aw, shit. You’re going to come at me like that, but with a knife, aren’t you?”

Richie laughed. “At least you know I won’t hurt you like I can Herc and you have fair warning?”

“Shitty comfort, knowing what I know,” Scott called back. “Especially since I suddenly feel like I really should’ve been paying attention.”

“Your fault,” Herc told him as he stepped off the mat to give his brother and Richie a clear field.

“I’ll get you for that comment,” Scott shot back, and then he was too busy defending himself to say anything else.


	11. Chapter 11

“Where’d you get these?” Chuck asked as Herc and Scott tried to figure out where they could store their new weapons in their quarters later that same day. They’d laid them out on Scott’s bed and Chuck, being curious, had followed and watched as they’d taken them out of their carrying cases.

“Richie gave them to us,” Herc said. His body ached; Richie had given him a workout, along with an understanding of how long it took to heal from being stabbed, sliced, and pushed to his limit. Scott, too, looked tired; Richie had made him pay for not taking his previous lessons seriously and without wounding him more than a small, accidental cut that Herc was almost certain wasn’t as accidental as Richie had made it seem.

Chuck started to reach for the sword.

“Don’t touch, it’s sharp and so are the two knives,” Herc warned, and Chuck snatched his hand back.

“They’re real? Why?” Chuck wanted to know.

“They’re protection against bad people,” Herc told him.

“Because of the kaiju cultists?” Chuck asked.

“How’d you find that out?” Scott asked in surprise.

“It was on the news,” Chuck said with a shrug. “There’s one channel that’s just the Pan Pacific Network, and it’s what the screens default to if you don’t pick a station.” Chuck shrugged again. “They’re probably playing it again; it’s big news.” Uninterested, he stared at the weapons. “So can I hold the sword, Dad?”

Herc hesitated, aware that his son was more likely to do something if it had the allure of the forbidden. “Just this once,” he finally decided. “Do not touch it without my permission, understood? I don’t want you thinking you can play pirate. Same thing with the knives. They’re not toys; they’re real weapons and they will cut you.” He held his son’s gaze, willing him to understand.

“Yes, sir.” Chuck stared at the sword for a long moment, clearly trying to figure out how to pick it up.

Herc moved to assist him. “Here, hand on the grip like this, point it at the wall, not at Scott, okay, you got it.”

“Wow. It’s heavier than I thought,” Chuck said, the sword wobbling dangerously in his grip. 

For a moment, Herc had the scary vision of his son as an immortal. He quickly dismissed it as the paranoia of a parent who’d spent a good chunk of the day learning, again, what it meant to be one. 

“But you can’t kill kaiju with a sword,” Chuck said.

Fearing that Chuck would cut himself trying to stabilize his grip, Herc carefully took the sword from his son’s hand and set it back down on the bed. 

“Probably could in a jaeger,” he told Chuck. 

“Oh, yeah, that would be cool!” Chuck said excitedly. “I want my jaeger to have blades like these. Can we get dinner? I’m hungry.”

“You’re becoming a bottomless pit, kid,” Scott said, tousling his hair and making him squirm in protest. “Give us a few minutes; we need to figure some things out, okay? Wait for us in the living room.”

“But I’m hungry!”

“Chuck,” Herc said warningly. “Your stomach will wait ten minutes.”

“Fine,” Chuck said, sulking and exiting the bedroom.

Scott shook his head. “We’d better be quick; he’ll escape if we take too long.”

Herc nodded. “Help me with this scabbard, then,” he said, stripping off the shirt of his duty uniform to reveal the regulation navy blue t-shirt he wore underneath. Before they’d concluded the day’s training, Richie had demonstrated how to wear the scabbard. Now, with his brother’s help, Herc put his sword in the scabbard, then strapped it on before putting on the uniform over-shirt and buttoning it up.

“Can you see it in any way?” he asked Scott.

“Mate, it’s like magic; it vanished flat like you’re not wearing it.”

“I can feel it against my shoulder blades,” Herc said, turning back around and rolling his shoulders, the weight of the sheathed blade a constant reminder of his immortality. “But I can see where, depending on what I’m wearing, it might be better to carry it in a duffel bag. If I had a coat on, that would be one extra layer to try and reach through.”

“Like that awesome racing suit Richie had?” Scott asked, leading the way out of their bedroom. 

Herc barked out a laugh. “Yeah, that looked custom. Maybe we should get in touch with that leather guy we met two years ago, see if he’s still around?”

“Doubt it,” Scott said quietly. “He was in what’s now the kaiju waste zone. We’d probably have better luck asking Richie.”

“For what?” Chuck asked as they joined him in the living room.

“For a leathermaker,” Herc told his son. “You outgrew your leather jacket and Scott likes the one-piece suit Richie has.”

“I liked the jacket I borrowed,” Chuck said as they exited their quarters. “Can you ask Richie if I can keep it?”

“Don’t think so, son, not after he just gave us what he did,” Herc told Richie. “But I’ll ask him where he got it, okay?”

Chuck looked disappointed.

“So what did you learn in school today?” Herc asked, changing the subject, and his son was off, talking excitedly about his schoolwork, as they made their way to the mess hall.


	12. Chapter 12

“I don’t feel like I’m ready,” Herc told Richie half a week later after Richie showed him a video of two immortals fighting to the death. The fight had been more vicious than Herc had expected, the look on Richie’s face at the end one of hard-won satisfaction mixed with regret. “And how the hell did you get this video, considering you were in it?”

“You’re more ready than you know, Herc. As for how I got the video – friends with interesting tattoos,” Richie said. “Since I’m not about to go looking for a fight just so you can see what a real one looks like. I’ll warn you that if you happen upon a fight, be careful. You can wind up sharing a Quickening with someone if you get too close. And ‘too close’ is defined as ‘standing in the same alley and not around the corner’.”

“That sounds…invasive,” Scott said. They were seated in the smaller of the ‘dome’s conference rooms, and Richie had played the video from his battered laptop from a USB stick rather than stream it from the ‘Dome’s server.

“So I’ve heard,” Richie agreed. 

“So what did this guy have against you?” Herc wanted to know.

“The Game,” Richie said flatly. “He was a headhunter who thought the way to get an advantage in the Game was to target the most known among us.”

Herc stared at him. “That doesn’t sound wise or smart.”

Richie shrugged. “If you’re strong enough and make the right moves, you’ll win. Unfortunately, guys like that assume that since I’m associated with the MacLeods, that just means I’m the easier target. Since that’s happened me a lot, I tend to be on the lookout for cheaters and opportunists.”

Scott shook his head. “There’s no opt-out clause to this Game?”

“Yeah. It’s called ‘go live on holy ground.’”

Herc narrowed his eyes. “But the moment you step off, you’re vulnerable again.”

Richie nodded grimly. 

“These friends of yours who took the video…they do it because you wanted to analyze what you did wrong, like you do in sports?” Scott wondered.

Richie laughed. “No, but since I have this one, I found myself doing it. No, the friends I got this from are part of a group who observe and record the history of immortals. They’re not supposed to interfere, but…they’re human.”

Scott looked at Richie suspiciously. “Any reason you couldn’t mention them before? And what kind of tattoos?”

“They’re called Watchers, and they wear a dotted trefoil in a circle as either a tattoo or a stylized ring, and the reason I didn’t mention them before is that I needed you both to be ready to hear it. Scott, rumor is they want to recruit you.”

“Recruit me for what?” Scott asked, shocked.

“To report on Herc.”

“What the fuck? I already know too much about my brother. You want me to write it down for someone else? Mate, some things not even a brother should know. Hell, having to tell the PPDC shrinks about what we saw in the Drift and how we felt about it is hard enough.” 

Richie didn’t look surprised by that answer. “So now you’re ready when they try,” he said evenly. “They like to recruit people who are close to an immortal, but they don’t always think about what it means to observe and never interfere. I owe my life to a Watcher.”

“Why do they think we’re so important?” Herc wanted to know.

“Because those of us who have lived long enough have changed history,” Richie replied. “I’ve met people who were actual historical figures.”

“Like who?” Scott asked.

Richie shook his head. “Part of being an immortal, Scott, is keeping another immortal’s secrets. Not saying you would tell anyone, but I can’t trust that the friend you entrust with the knowledge I’ve given you is as equally trustworthy as you.”

Scott stared at him. “That’s why you lied when we were at the Mitchells,” he said with dawning realization. “That’s what you were trying to tell me after that weekend – that it’s not that you don’t trust me, it’s that you don’t know who else I’d tell.”

Richie nodded. “Twenty years from now, Scott, you’ll be old and gray and Herc’ll look like he is now. People will think you’re the older brother. What kind of lies will you be telling then?”

“You honestly think we’ll be here twenty years from now,” Herc said, surprised.

“Sure, because you two will kick the kaiju back, right?” Richie said confidently. 

“Definitely,” Scott agreed. “But you’re turning Herc loose.”

Richie nodded. “I wanted to leave you in a place where you can defend yourself,” he told Herc. “I don’t know how much you’re going to be challenged, but I don’t want to bet that it’s a zero possibility, either.”

“Where are you going after this?” Scott wondered.

“I’ll be around,” Richie assured him. “I’ve some business to attend to, but I’ll be in the country.”

“But you won’t be here,” Herc interpreted.

Richie shook his head. “Starting Monday, no, I won’t be.”

“What about extending our training?” Scott asked. “Or teaching Chuck French? Why can’t you be our long-lost cousin?”

Richie sighed. “If the latter was as simple as it sounds, I would do it. However, I’ve checked – only immediate family will be allowed with jaeger pilots. As for teaching Chuck French, I believe Russian would be better for him given the rumors I’ve heard about the Russians wanting their own Shatterdome, and my Russian is mostly curse words. And finally – Scott, you’d do better if you were less concerned about how you look when you hold a knife. ”

Scott had the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry. “

“You are, however, at least sufficiently proficient with said knife that I feel you just need more practice.”

“What about my bro? He can’t be done!”

“Nice try, Scott, but he is,” Richie said. Turning to Herc, he said, “If you need more training in six months, call me. But I think you’re going to be just fine.”

Herc tried to smile. He’d thought getting through the Jaeger Academy had been intense, but it had been nothing like training with Richie. He’d never been around anyone this intense or intriguing before, and he wanted to believe that they'd become friends. This felt like goodbye, and Herc didn't want it to be. He was a realist, though, and settled for saying what he could say, knowing it wasn’t enough. “Thanks, Richie.”

Richie hugged him once, hard, then stepped back. “Don’t lose your head, either of you. Keep yourselves focused, especially if you’re stuck with other people.”

“Will do,” Herc promised.

“Thanks, Richie,” Scott said, hugging him. “Come back here and be our jaeger tech, all right? Lucky Seven’s almost done.”

Richie grinned but didn’t take the bait. “Now, shoo, you two. It’s almost dinnertime.”

“I think this occasion calls for a celebration, don’t you?” Scott asked.

Richie hesitated. “Not sure if I’m allowed to socialize with you.”

“Then we won’t say anything if you happen to show up at the pub up the road in an hour, will we, Herc?”

“Damn straight,” Herc agreed. “And if I happen to buy you a beer as a thank you….” Herc let his voice trail off.

Richie laughed. “All right, all right. I’ll see what I can do.”


	13. Chapter 13

One pleasant side effect of being immortal, Herc discovered, was that he sobered up much more quickly than he used to, which meant he could drink a little more. Scott, being competitive, tried to keep up, which meant that both Richie and Herc had to cut him off before he hurt himself – and when Richie left, citing he had an early morning meeting, Herc had to stay until his brother sobered up enough to stay upright on Herc’s bike. Herc was thanking his foresight in remembering that Scott liked to drink as he helped his brother stumble out to the bar’s parking lot when he felt the warning of another immortal approaching. Thinking it was Richie, coming back for something he forgot, Herc didn’t react immediately.

Then he saw it wasn’t Richie at all. Late May in Sydney meant winter was coming, and the night air had a chilly bite, so the stranger’s heavy, knee-length coat was not unusual. Any other day, Herc knew, he’d be interested in finding out what lay under that form-fitting, curve-enhancing coat, but the look on her face said she had one goal and one goal only. 

“Look, I’m not interested in a fight,” he told her, hoping she’d reconsider.

“Too bad, I am,” she shot back. “Name’s Keira Neumayer. There’s an alley around the corner if you’re not too chicken to fight a girl. There can only be one.”

Herc took a breath, aware that the last three weeks had come down to this decision. Beside him, Scott leaned heavily on the bar’s outside wall.

“You gonna be okay if I leave you here?” Herc asked his brother quietly.

Scott might’ve been drunk, but not so drunk that he couldn’t size up trouble when it found him. “Go on, bro, kick her ass.”

Herc nodded once. He discarded his motorcycle jacket and helmet near where Scott stood, and drew his sword from the duffel bag he’d grown used to carrying in such a short amount of time. His opponent waited impatiently, but when she saw he’d drawn his sword, grinned in wolfish satisfaction. 

“We don't have to do this,” he told his opponent when they arrived at the alley. 

“Peace is for losers,” Keira sneered, and attacked. 

Fighting her was not, he quickly found out, like fighting Richie. She was nowhere near Richie’s skill, and Richie’s intensive training meant that Herc already had countermoves to everything she tried. “Who are you?” she demanded as he brought to her knees.

“My name is Hercules Hansen,” he said again, “I’m a jaeger pilot from Sydney,” and he brought his sword down without thinking, as Richie had trained him to do. Keira’s head fell to the ground.

A half second too late, Herc remembered he was not a killer, but then the Quickening was rising up to greet him. Drawing a breath, he spared a moment to regret what he’d done, then let the energy that had been Keira Neumayer pour into his soul, screaming his name as he did. Her Quickening wasn’t huge – he caught the glimpse of the six heads she’d taken prior to this night – but never having absorbed one before, it felt like the worst invasion of the Drift combined with stepping through a ghost and being trapped in that space. Herc struggled to find himself, and here again, Richie’s lessons saved him. Still, Herc fell to his knees and tried not to vomit as the last of the Quickening energy faded into him.

Herc staggered to his feet, feeling as though he’d gotten high and was now crashing down to reality. His sword was bloodied; Keira’s head had been vaporized, but her body was still a damning piece of evidence.

Shakily, he reached for his phone, abruptly grateful that Richie had insisted on giving him the same custom heavy-duty protective case he had. All around Herc, trash and debris had been kicked up by the lightning storm, and one of the two overhead lights that had been illuminating the alley was now out. Richie answered on the second ring.

“What’s up? Bike breakdown? Scott too drunk to stay on?”

“No, but we're still at the bar,” Herc said. He stared at the scene in front of him, unable to speak.

“Herc?” Richie prompted.

“I…I won. What do I do now?”

“Anyone notice?”

“Can’t tell.”

“First order of business – take your challenger’s wallet and hide the body. If there’s a Dumpster nearby, use it. We’ll work on finesse later, but you need to get yourself and Scott clear, understood?”

“If they run DNA –” Herc had seen enough detective shows to surmise there was no way to leave this scene clean, even if what was on TV was stretching the truth.

“Forget about that for a minute, all right? I’ll handle it. You’ll be fine, but you need to get yourself out of there. Call me when you get back home.”

“Understood.”

Hastily, Herc did as Richie bid. He wiped his sword off on the inside of Keira’s coat, then, after a moment’s hesitation, took her sword as well. It was a plain broadsword, nothing particularly fancy, but he didn’t want to give the police more information than he already had. He quickly stuffed both swords into his duffel bag, zipped the bag up, then headed to where he hoped his brother still waited.

Scott still stood where Herc had left him. In the time it had taken for Herc and Keira to fight, he’d clearly sobered up more, and looked worried until Herc returned. Scott had always held his liquor well, and even accounting for the amount he’d drunk, he tended to be more functional than most.

“You all right?” Scott asked. “Your shirt’s all ripped up.”

Herc shook his head. “About what Richie warned me,” he replied, picking up his motorcycle jacket and quickly putting it on. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”


	14. Chapter 14

Herc kept expecting the police to come chasing after him the entire fifteen minutes it took to ride back to the Shatterdome, but nothing happened. He knew he’d likely fall apart later once he was safe, but for now, he was running in combat mode.

Though he’d turned on his comm unit, Scott hadn’t turned on his, more focused on trying to stay upright on the passenger seat of Herc’s motorcycle. At the stop of at the gate to the Shatterdome, waiting for the guard to confirm that they had access, Herc thought for sure Scott would blurt out something to get them in trouble. Thankfully, Scott said nothing.

A PPDC security guard stood watch in front of their quarters, making sure that Chuck was not left alone; when he saw Herc and Scott, he greeted them.

“Good evening, Rangers,” he said. “I hope you enjoyed your evening out.”

“Thank you, Specialist Camidge,” Herc said gratefully, reading the guard’s nametag off his uniform. It struck Herc then just how badly this night could’ve gone; if he’d lost, would Scott, who’d never been good at planning, rise to the challenge of covering for him? Herc shook his head mentally and put ‘figure out contingency plans’ on the to-do list. He knew, even as he thought that, he was coping with his shock the only way he knew how.

The security guard nodded and took Herc’s words as his dismissal, crisply saluting and exiting the area.

Herc quickly entered the key code for their quarters and stepped inside, Scott close behind. Scott shut the door.

“Hell of a night,” Scott remarked as he shed his gear and boots. “You okay?”

“Mostly,” Herc admitted as he set his duffel bag down and followed Scott’s example.

Looking around their quarters, Herc saw his son dressed in his pajamas, asleep on the living room couch. The TV remote had dropped out of Chuck’s hand onto the floor; the TV was still on and playing the science channel Herc knew Chuck loved to watch. Dropping the duffel bag to the floor, Herc went to go move Chuck to his own bed. Chuck didn’t stir during the transfer, and love for his son surged through Herc. This is why he fought to win, he thought.

By the time he’d put Chuck in his own bed, Scott had found the duffel bag and unzipped it.

“You kept her sword?” Scott asked incredulously. Herc noted that he didn’t touch the weapon, as if it was contaminated.

“She didn’t need it anymore and it might be handy as a spare,” Herc said practically. “Besides. I didn’t think it would be good to leave it there.” Herc was grateful that his brother hadn’t found Keira’s wallet; he wasn’t sure how Scott would react to that and didn’t want to find out. “And what are you doing looking in my bag anyway?”

“Um…seemed like a good idea?” 

Herc looked his brother over, suspecting he was still processing the night’s events. “You still drunk?”

“Kind of.” Scott exhaled slowly. “You, uh, your shirt’s ripped where she cut you.”

Herc glanced down. He’d barely felt the cuts in the heat of battle, but the rips bore testament to how much she’d managed to score. “Looks like I’ll have to requisition another one.” He paused before asking, “You didn’t watch?”

Scott shook his head. “I didn’t want to see you get killed.”

Herc inhaled sharply at that.

“What was I gonna tell Chuck?” Scott went on. “I’m glad you came back. I mean, it’s shitty that she was pretty and wanted you dead.”

Herc smiled briefly and clasped his brother’s shoulder. “Me too.” He started to zip the duffel bag back up when he felt the distinctive warning of another immortal. Seconds later, a knock sounded on the door.

Herc checked the peephole before he opened it. “Richie,” he greeted, relieved. “Come in.”

Richie waited until the door was shut before he said anything. 

“You okay, Scott?” he asked.

It took Scott a moment to answer. “I’m going to bed,” Scott announced. “You two need to talk, I think.”

“Good night, Scott. Take some aspirin and drink some water before you crash,” Richie said.

“Thanks,” Scott said, and exited the living room without doing anything Richie suggested.

“How are you feeling?” Richie asked, moving over to sit on the living room couch.

“Like I tried to plug myself into an electrical socket while Drifting with a complete stranger,” Herc said bluntly, sitting down on the other end of the couch. “But…I get why you were so intense about making sure I could stay me.”

“And?” Richie’s eyes held no judgment.

“I hope I never have to do that again,” Herc said fervently.

“Me too,” Richie told him. “As for the body, well, it’s disappearing as we speak.”

“How?” Herc demanded.

“I called a friend who knows a friend,” Richie said. “And this is where we get into advanced corpse disposal, which is something I was hoping I could put off teaching you.”

Herc stared at his teacher. “You were hoping I wouldn’t get challenged right off the bat.”

“Yeah,” Richie said, “but now it’s looking like it’s a good thing I did some research. I thought I was mainly doing for me, but…” He shrugged. “Don’t mind using it for you. There are people who are dumping bodies in the kaiju waste zone because nobody’s gonna go looking there for anything.” Richie pulled open his phone. “I’ll send you the contact information. He won’t ask questions and you’ll never have to pay him anything.”

Herc looked startled. “That can’t be cheap. You’re dealing with someone willing to break the law. What if he tries to scam me for more?”

“Tell him he’ll never get the recipe for boom-boom if he asks for more.”

“What’s boom-boom?”

Richie laughed. “Moonshine whiskey from a friend of Connor’s, brewed strong enough to make most immortals blind stinking drunk. I tasted it once and lived to regret it.”

“Got it. So what do I do with…” Herc hesitated, not wanting to say his opponent’s name, but suspecting it wouldn’t feel real until he did, “...Keira’s sword and wallet?”

Richie looked startled. “Your opponent was female?”

Herc nodded. “That unusual?”

“There are fewer women immortals than men,” Richie told him. “And…the few who hunt others usually become known quickly.”

“I tried to talk her out of it.”

“I’d be more surprised if you didn’t.” Richie leaned forward. “I’m not saying you should’ve done anything different, Herc. You had two choices: you could’ve tried to run or you could’ve fought her. You aren’t the kind of guy who runs from a fight. If you were, you wouldn’t be a jaeger pilot.”

“Don’t you ever feel guilty for what you’ve done?” Herc asked, finding a measure of solace in Richie’s words, but needing further confirmation.

“Plenty,” Richie assured him. “But I like my life, and want to keep on living it. If it means I have to raise my sword to stay alive, that’s what I’ll do.”

Herc considered what Richie said. “So what should I do with the sword and the wallet?” 

“Keep the sword and any cash she might’ve had. You know her PIN; you could access her bank account if you wished to liberate some of her money. If you think that’s stealing, then don’t, but do figure out how to dump the plastic discreetly.”

Herc stared. It hadn’t occurred to him that he now had access to his opponent’s money. “Anyone ever tell you how cold you are about this stuff?”

Richie laughed. “Yeah, I thought the same thing when I was new, too. But most of us who live long enough have to keep reinventing ourselves, and that takes money, which we can’t always earn through legitimate means. If that’s a step you’re not ready to take, I won’t hold it against you.”

“Makes sense, but it feels…wrong, at least right now it does.” Herc let out a breath, aware that there was a need surging through his blood, but he needed to ask one more question first. “Richie…how do we tell if someone’s going to be one of us?”

Richie closed his eyes briefly. “It’s like a faint echo of the warning we feel when another is near. Sometimes it’s really strong; sometimes it goes away, but the longer you’re with that person, the more you know.” Richie paused. “Right after you take a Quickening, you can tell better.”

Herc stared at Richie, his heart sinking. “My son.”

Richie nodded. “He will be one of us, yes.”

“I wasn’t sure before tonight, but…she knew. I feel like I downloaded everything she knew about hunting one of us.”

Richie nodded again. “You did.”

“I don’t want him to know what this feels like.” 

“Then you’d better make sure he doesn’t die until he’s older and stronger,” Richie said quietly. “Because I’ve met an immortal who died at ten, and he’s been running around for eight hundred years because people believe him when he spins his tale of ‘I don’t know what happened to me, please help me’. His mind grew up; his body didn’t, and he’s one frustrated ball of rage.”

“No one’s managed to take him out?”

“Not yet. If I see him, he’s dead. He conned me once; he won’t do it again.” Richie studied Herc for a moment. “Enough about Kenny and things that haven’t happened yet. How are you, now that you’ve some time to process?”

Herc hesitated. “Am I supposed to feel like I could fuck a horse?” he burst out.

Richie laughed softly. “It’s the ‘I won’ feeling. Some people do go get laid after winning; some people go get drunk. Depends on how you want to handle things; I tend to go for ride on my bike if I don’t have a willing partner, largely because I didn’t have the option of sex or alcohol after my first few Quickenings.”

“I’m not about to go looking for anyone right now.” Herc paused. “So it’s normal?”

“For us, yes. Any other questions?”

“I feel like I should feel more regret than I do. I just –“

“– defended yourself,” Richie interrupted. “Let me guess. She came to you and challenged you. Maybe made a remark about being weak.”

“Is it that predictable?” Herc asked dryly.

“Pretty much,” Richie agreed. “Yes, you killed someone. This is no different than when you were in Afghanistan; we call it a Game, but it’s really a war.”

“Feels a hell of lot more personal.”

Richie nodded. “Every one of them does. It’s when they stop being that way, that’s when you’re headed down a wrong road.” Richie eyed Herc a moment longer, then stood, clasping his shoulder briefly. “Shower. Jerk off. You’ll feel better and the Quickening will settle more solidly than if you just wait it out. I’ll see in the morning at breakfast.”

“I’m not stopping you from where you’re headed next, am I?”

Richie shook his head. “No. My meeting’s after breakfast, then I’m headed out.”

“Thanks, Richie.”

Herc waited until the door was shut and locked behind Richie before going to do what his teacher had suggested. Following what Richie had taught him had proved lifesaving; this felt like one more lesson. Still, Herc knew that his life would never be the same, especially now that he knew what his son’s future held. Silently, he promised himself he’d make sure he’d keep his son safe.


	15. Chapter 15

_The next morning_  
“Come in,” Deputy Marshal Carrodus called.

Dressed in jeans, motorcycle boots, and a rock band t-shirt, Richie stepped inside her office. “Morning,” he greeted as he sat down.

She smiled and folded her hands on top of her desk, the ring on her right hand catching Richie’s eyes. “Appreciate you stopping by before you left. How’s Herc?”

“That's a distinctive ring you're wearing. You asking as his Watcher or as his commanding officer?” Richie asked mildly.

She looked startled before she smiled ruefully and leaned forward. “As if they’re mutually exclusive, Mr. Ryan.”

Richie held her gaze. “I’ve seen what happens when they can’t be balanced.”

Deputy Marshal Carrodus sighed. “The Watchers are not the organization we were twenty years ago, when things were…hateful and chaotic. We understand there are bigger problems, like the kaiju.” She let out a breath. “What do you want me to say? I swore an oath to protect the jaeger program and its pilots. Considering it’s the end of the world if we fail in that mission, being a Watcher is a secondary priority in my opinion. That doesn’t mean that I don’t worry.”

Richie relaxed slightly. “In that case, I can assure you that Herc is doing as well as can be expected.” He studied her carefully. “What do you want from me?”

She smiled, slightly sheepishly. “Confirmation, which you just gave me. I care about my people, Mr. Ryan. Perhaps more than my other oath would like.”

Richie said nothing for a moment. “I asked for a meeting to request some information.”

“Ask me,” she said without hesitation.

“How do I become a jaeger tech?”

Deputy Marshal Carrodus smiled. “The training is in Hong Kong since they have the most jaegers. You’ll need a recommendation to get in without going through the Jaeger Academy. If you are willing to accept a priority assignment to this Shatterdome, I’ll write that recommendation for you.”

“In exchange for…?”

“For helping Herc know what he is,” she replied. “I’d be one jaeger pilot short this morning if it weren’t for your training.”

Richie nodded; surmising that, as both the head of the Sydney Shatterdome and as a Watcher, she knew exactly what he’d been doing with Herc for the last three weeks. “As long as you know this doesn’t put me in debt me to you for anything else.”

Deputy Marshal Carrodus barked out a laugh. “You’re not a slave, and any future favors will be negotiated on a case-by-case basis. I deal a fair hand, Mr. Ryan. I expect a fair hand in return.”

“Then it’s a deal.” Richie rose and shook hands with her, then watched as she typed up the recommendation, emailing it to the head of the training program for jaeger technicians, and sending Richie a copy to the email he supplied.

“You’ll hear back regarding your acceptance sometime Monday,” Deputy Marshal Carrodus said. “I’d say good luck, but I suspect you make your own.”

Richie nodded. “Thank you, ma’am.” He rose and turned to leave.

“One more thing before you go, Mr. Ryan.”

He turned and looked at her expectantly.

“Thank you for taking the risk with Herc.”

Richie smiled. “My pleasure.”


End file.
